


far away from where i belong.

by LovelyVerisimilitude



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dreams, F/M, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Light Angst, Magical Realism, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Visions, Winter Solstice, Wishes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27998847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyVerisimilitude/pseuds/LovelyVerisimilitude
Summary: “Maybe I need to shake it.”“Don’t,” she warns, casting the table a glower.“Why not? Will it explode?” he mocks, annoyed by her tone.“Maybe your head will,” she threatens, then discreetly mutters, “I can’t believe I traveled all this way forthis―”(WISH AU― Everyone is born with a single Star, a single wish. Apparently, Percy's wish will destroy the world as he knows it―happy holidays!)
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. but it's always darkest

**Author's Note:**

> i. no beta reader.
> 
> ii. don't question some of the logic or facts in this fjakfj i did not have the time or energy for accuracy
> 
> iii. anyway, take this hastily written percabeth au i had to quickly make to feed all the people who want to see more of my percabeth writing ajdfj

“Okay, class, settle down! Settle down!” Mr. Brunner shouts as he spins the wheels of his wheelchair, rolling into the boisterous, lawless mayhem of his seventh grade classroom.

A paper airplane zips over the room and collides into his shoulder.

He stares as it miserably sinks to the ground.

Flimsy, white paper airplanes are burrowed in the tiniest, narrowest corners of the room. Students are out of their assigned seats, perched on school desks or digging their noses in fantasy novels or dozing off with hoodies sheltering their heads. As soon as they hear Mr. Brunner’s voice, his students hurriedly scramble to seize leftover lollipop wrappers they nicked from his not-so-secret stash of candy and desperately stash their phones in anything that had a pocket. They even attempt to shake the sleeping students awake, an impossible feat to accomplish at eight in the morning.

Mr. Brunner sighs wearily. “Miranda, put your lunch away, please. I’m a science teacher, not a lunch lady. And Travis, my boy, stop trying to pry the window open. I assure you it’s locked _tight._ And Matt―just don’t get an office referral. Is everyone ready to begin class now?”

Mr. Brunner lifts an eyebrow as they all hastily stumble into their seats.

“Let’s get right to it, shall we?” He snatches a piece of light blue chalk, writing the topic of the day at the top of the blackboard. “Seeing that we just finished our world geography unit and it’s almost winter break, today’s lesson is on Stars. Now can anybody tell me what Stars are?”

“It’s a star that grants you wishes!” Pollux blurts out eagerly.

“Correct, Pollux! But please raise your hand next time.” Mr. Brunner scribbles a rough design of a circle glowing. “But it can’t just glow out of the blue! Your Star can grant your greatest wish or save you in your darkest hour, but _only_ on the winter solstice when you need it most.”

 _“Oh! Oh!”_ Grover enthusiastically waves his hand in the air. “My Star glowed once! Um, at least, I thought it did. It could’ve just been the sunlight, though, since it’s right by my bedroom window.”

“At least you know _where_ your Star is,” Connor grumbles, jabbing holes into an eraser with the lead point of his pencil. “My mom had me and Travis give ours to her. Don’t know where they are and haven’t seen them since.”

“I heard someone in eighth grade had her wish and now has a _mansion!”_ Castor yells before Mr. Brunner can remind them about the universal hand gesture for indicating they want to speak. “With a fountain and shiny bathrooms and a big game room and everything!”

The class unexpectedly erupts, the students coincidently retelling mini stories, each one about the inscrutable, baffling logic of Stars.

“My dad got his wish when he was a baby! No one knows what it was, though―”

“My dog almost ate my Star!”

“I know a celebrity that got his wish right after he was supposed to be sentenced to prison!”

“Alright, alright, settle down!” Mr. Brunner calls, elevating the volume of his voice to be heard. He scrawls a few more notes on the board. “Stars are a tricky subject when it comes to their motives. Now while they can grant someone riches, they can also grant someone the ability to evade their previous crimes. Stars have no sense of morality, which is why many are hesitant whenever they see a Star acting, ah, _strange―”_

“Uh, Mr. Brunner?”

Mr. Brunner doesn’t even need to turn around to ask whose voice spoke. “Yes, Percy?”

“What if your Star never glows?” Percy asks. His skin prickles, almost flinching when he senses everyone’s eyes on him. “What if―what if you can’t _get_ your wish?”

Mr. Brunner frowns, still writing. “Everyone’s Star glows once on the winter solstice. I don’t remember anyone who hasn’t had their wish granted before. After you die― _poof!_ ―your Star stops glowing and is kept with your remains. After your Star glows, it glows forever until you die.”

Percy swallows thickly. “But what if―”

“Jackson’s got a loose screw in the head,” Matt Sloan utters mockingly next to him, causing his friends to burst into snickers and sneers.

Percy scowls, glaring at Matt Sloan and his poor haircut and his expensive clothes he doesn’t deserve. “Not everyone has a leg or an arm at birth, right? So not everyone has a Star.”

Matt Sloan scoffs doubtingly. “Oh, really? And how is _that_ possible?”

Percy tenses. His mouth stiffens into a stubborn line. When he speaks, he directly focuses on Matt Sloan’s detesting eyes. “Because I don’t have one.”

Mr. Brunner’s chalk breaks.

# 

* * *

Percy still has the memory buried deep inside his mind four years later.

# 

* * *

From the very beginning, Percy has never understood Stars.

He wasn’t born with a paranormal, crystalline orb that glittered under the sun, didn’t have a Star that covertly encompasses his hopes and dreams and ambitions. But he doesn’t _want it._ Doesn’t _need_ one. He reminds himself of this daily, and yet he still discovers his subconscious wondering at night when the windows are open and the black, blank sky is above him, the moon a hazy white splotch, and he needs―he _craves―_

No.

No, that’s stupid.

# 

* * *

The knocks are vigorous, rhythmic, and wake him up from his nap.

He dazedly hoists his head from his semi-finished essay, blinking at the darkness of his room. Percy squints, addled, then pivots his head to the window. A flurry of powdery white snow showers from the night sky like an unstable avalanche, filming the sill with frost. He frowns, glancing at the face of his analog clock.

Well. That’s unusual. His mom isn’t supposed to be home until midnight. It’s only nine.

The knocks hammer against his front door again. Percy mutters unintelligibly under his breath, cracking his stiff neck as he swiftly leaves his bedroom, deliberating who the _fuck_ is up right now on the _first day of winter fucking break._ Maybe it’s Travis pranking him or Grover asking him about the three thousand school assignments due in January or his grouchy neighbor asking for a cup of sugar again.

When Percy approaches the front door, he’s too burnt out to even bother peeking through the peephole. He twists some locks, momentarily forgetting which lock is _locked_ and which lock is _unlocked,_ then swings the door open.

And Percy freezes.

And Percy gapes.

“Hello,” the girl standing on his doormat greets, robotically extending her hand for him to shake. Her voice is breathy, like the wind had blasted into her chest and emptied her lungs of air. “My name is Annabeth Chase and I need to speak―uh, need to speak to Perseus Jackson. This is where he lives, right? This is really, _really_ urgent and I need to talk to him immediately and―and, uh―”

But Percy isn’t sparing her an ounce of his attention.

Instead his eyes are scrupulously fixed on the white sliver peeking out of her puffy sleeves, radiating warmth and light. It’s humming, he realizes, like the steady beat of a drum in his pulse, his veins, airy and heavy and filling his ears with sound and―

And it’s not the winter solstice yet.

And it’s a Star.

And it’s _glowing._

# 

* * *

_It’s nothing like he’s ever experienced before._

_The feeling is like passing out; he’s dizzy and motionless and his mind wobbles back and forth until his legs seem to give up under himself and―and then it’s like **falling**. His stomach plunges down into the pit and the noises around him are dizzying, befuddling, dazed, like he’s infinitely spinning in an elliptic pattern. It reminds him of rollercoaster rides when he was little, the cart traveling up and down and higher up and steeper down. A nauseating cycle._

_When Percy opens his eyes, his feet sways back onto solid ground, and he has to stop._

_Think._

_Blink._

_Blink some more._

_The first thing he regards is the sweltering hot heatwave, which is unusual since it’s supposed to be winter. The scenery assembles itself together; vivid blue waves the height of mountains crash onto the sandy shore, seagulls squawk and caw abroadly, and the blurry white sun glares down on his head. Red crabs snap their claws. Sunglasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. Percy’s lounging across a striped beach chair, an umbrella shadowing the sunlight._

_He knows this beach, Percy comprehends. He’s been here before when he was younger and still sporting inflatable arm floaties._

_Percy glimpses at himself, his cozy pajama pants and cotton T-shirt replaced with swim shorts and a bare chest. He furrows his brows, perplexed, then the weight of a heavy shell necklace loops over his head, a fishing rod magically appears in his hand, and a coconut milkshake is thrown in the other._

_He inspects his new accessories. “What the―”_

_“Finally, you’re here.”_

_Percy whirls around to face a man he’s ninety-nine percent sure wasn’t there before. The man in question has a bent, leisure posture, sitting in a beach chair like Percy’s, wearing a wrinkled white polo shirt, khaki shorts, and worn flip-flops. An outdoor fishing hat sits on top of the man’s dark curls, the brim tipped over his eyes and obscuring his face._

_The man releases a content sigh. “You’ve learned a lot, Percy. So has your friend. But is it enough?”_

_“Who are **you**?” Percy sputters._

_He turns, and Percy’s own voice gets caught in the hollow of his throat. The man has bronze-brown skin, a graying dark beard, and green eyes that reflect Percy’s own._

_Before Percy can even choke out the word, **Dad** , the man firmly grips a hand on his shoulder and smiles warmly. “ **Whatever is lost will always be found**.”_

_“What does that mean?” Percy asks, abruptly falling again in the pitch-black abyss._

_The abyss mockingly echoes his words._

_**What does that mean?** _

# 

* * *

Percy’s out of breath when the vision ends.

After some bewildered introductions and a little reluctance, Percy offered to let her inside. The living room is mainly clear with only cardboard boxes of Christmas decorations blocking the walkways. She’s sitting on the Jackson’s fabric couch, her legs crossed, sleeves hiked over her ice-cold fingers. Fly-away strands of blonde hair rise from her hood. She’s about his age, he notices. At least in high school. They both gaze at the shining Star between them, as blinding as the sun.

“So what you’re telling me,” Percy begins, “is that _this―”_ he aims a finger at the brilliantly vivid sphere stationed on the coffee table “―is _my_ Star, which is why whenever I get near it, I have these... _visions.”_

“Exactly,” Annabeth says, then gulps her hot chocolate.

The thought unsettles him. Growing up, Percy didn’t exactly pay attention to the subject of Stars, too busy keeping up with his other classes or too indifferent to care. Visions were something he _did_ set his focal point on, though, mostly because they were cool and scary at the same time, but also because they reflected one’s wish. They were like clues to what they’ll wish about. Most were like dreams, others like nightmares, all of them hints and signals gently guiding the wisher.

Though, Percy isn’t exactly sure what the beach and his dad had anything to do with _his_ wish.

“I don’t believe it,” Percy mutters to no one in particular, dumbfounded. “So I had a Star all this time?”

“Seems like it,” she says for lack of better conversation.

He glances at her, leaning back in his armchair. “Okay, so if this is my Star, who are you?”

She emits a huff of irritation, gathering her hair and tossing it back so it won’t get in the way. “I told you already. I’m Annabeth Chase. My dad’s Frederick Chase.”

Percy tilts his head to the side, thinking hard. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“You haven’t learned about Chase’s Law?”

“Oh, _him?_ The scientist who has the theory that Stars are trying to, like, _accomplish_ something? Like they’re alive? What’s a scientist doing with my Star?”

“ _I’m_ not a scientist,” she rebuffs. “But I found it. My dad let me go with him to a laboratory where they’re studying Stars. I wandered off for a bit and discovered this.” Annabeth gestures to the table with thin fingers. “It had your name on it. And I―well, I found you.”

Percy’s brows crease. It’s unsettling how effortless and simple her journey was to locate him, but it couldn’t have been _that_ hard, right? He’s known at his school―mostly badly known, but y’know, still _known_ ―and his mom’s candy shop business is steadily booming as the days until Christmas slip by. The Jacksons don’t try to be _that_ secretive.

“Do you know why it’s glowing?” he asks, changing the subject, suddenly intrigued to solve his Star. Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to Mr. Brunner’s seventh grade science class. “I thought they only glowed on the winter solstice.”

The hope in her eyes flickers out. “Wait, so you don’t know why?”

“I thought I was born without a Star for seventeen years of my life. Do you _think_ I know anything about my own?”

“No, it’s not that.” Annabeth takes another long sip of her hot cocoa. “Usually people have some sort of―some sort of bond. A connection with their Stars. That’s how you can tell them apart. I thought if you could see it, it would, you know, _tell_ you.”

He observes his Star, intense and divine and so unfamiliarly unique. And somehow―somehow he can tell that it’s _his,_ from the feeling of weightlessness it fabricates to the mesmerizing trance it encases his attention in. But it’s solely a _uniqueness,_ a distinction from anything else in his living room. Nothing else. Nothing more.

“Well, I can’t turn it off,” he says, scrutinizing his Star. “Does it have an off button?”

“No.”

“A switch?”

“No.”

“Maybe I need to shake it?”

 _“Don’t,”_ she warns, casting the table a glower.

“Why not? Will it explode?” he mocks, annoyed by her tone.

“Maybe your head will,” she threatens, then discreetly mutters, “I can’t believe I traveled all this way for _this―”_

“Why was my Star in a _science lab?”_ Percy interrupts. “Was it because it was glowing? Or was it going to―”

 _“Not_ explode.” Her eyes land on him, as if thoroughly registering he’s still there, her mouth stretched into a slant. “It’s not a _bomb._ My dad’s colleagues weren’t doing anything to the Star. They said they needed to keep it under control or something.”

“Why?”

“No clue.” She cocks an eyebrow. “But one thing’s for sure.” Annabeth uncrosses her legs, setting down her cup of hot chocolate. Her eyes are pinned on him, her attention unwavering. When her mouth opens, she speaks in a measured, composed tone. “Whatever your wish was...they were scared of it.”

Percy squints. “Then why bring my Star to me?”

Her spine straightens. “So we can figure out what it is before it’s too late.”


	2. before the dawn;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. here's another chapter after endless procrastination and a lot of tears.

When Annabeth departs, she brings the Star with her.

 _His_ Star.

“We need to start figuring out what your wish is,” she tells him, warming her pale hands. “What was your vision again?”

“Oh,” Percy says shortly. He clears his throat. “Nothing important.”

“A vision is _always_ important,” Annabeth claims matter-of-factly.

“I just had a vision of the beach,” Percy insists, reluctant to tell a stranger about his own estranged father. His eyes trail to the glowing sphere deliberately tucked inside her arms. “Hey, my Star stays with me.”

“If you help me find what your wish is, I’ll let you keep the Star,” she compromises smoothly, like the line was printed in a non-existent, memorizable script. Annabeth’s lips puckered. “That’s strange. People don’t usually experience symptoms until the solstice.”

“I’m _not_ showing symptoms,” Percy denies.

“The Five Symptoms of Wishes,” she proficiently recites, as if she’s been waiting her whole life for this significant moment. Like she’s _rehearsed._ “Unexplainable visions, extreme overprotectiveness of one’s Star, anxiousness, chills and shivering, and then the moment of clarity.” Annabeth lifts her chin. “Tell me if you experience any other symptoms. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 _Don’t lose your cool, Percy,_ he thinks, gritting his teeth. “Can I at least walk you home?”

Annabeth pointedly gives him the cold-shoulder and spins on the heel of her snow boots, golden-blonde hair fluttering in the harsh winter wind. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she reiterates before her legs begin trekking down the flights of stairs, and surrenders to the snow.

# 

* * *

That night, in the pitch-black darkness of his room, Percy hunts every nook and cranny of the internet for any information about Stars.

 _star glows,_ Percy types into the search bar, then anxiously waits as the page buffers and loads. 

The first article is some bullshit question on Reddit requesting Star glowing stories. The responses are compelling to read; there are some anecdotes like encountering their one true love in a fire (at least they made it out alive―uh, with shared trauma), vengefully punching their middle school bullies in the jaw (where was Percy’s Star when he needed to do that?), and the power to communicate with animals (it’s plausible; that was Grover’s wish when they were thirteen).

But in every response, they were all on the winter solstice. Nowhere did anybody state their Star glowed on any other day, and nowhere were any of the occurrences deemed out of the ordinary.

 _why is my star glowing?_ Percy types instead. The results are simply medical websites explicating Star symptoms and their correlation to wishes.

 _why is my star glowing and its not december 21?_ he types. His eyes arduously strain as he reads more pointless articles, none of them quite answering his question.

_lost star_

_star labs_

_how do i know if my star is really mine_

_why am i seeing my absent father and why is he spouting out bible verses_

_star connections_

_theories of stars_

_frederick chase_

Percy pauses when images of a blond man materialize on his bright phone screen. His jaw is clean-shaven, his eyes are copper-brown, and his blond hair is either professionally, sprucely tidy or exhaustively disheveled in each photo. Nearly all the images are of him carrying a burnished gold statue of a Star, a reward for his scientific theories. In his scientific theories for _Stars._

He stops scrolling when he spots a photo of him with his family; his wife is by his side, smiling proudly with two identical twin boys in front and a girl next to her―

Percy hastily taps on the search bar.

 _annabeth chase,_ he frantically types. _who is annabeth chase?_

# 

* * *

“Did you sleep well?” his mom questions when he enters the spotless kitchen. With the morning sunlight emerging through the glass windows and the sound of tap water splashing against the dishes, there’s one of those early day atmospheres Percy has grown comfortable with. She snaps on a pair of azure blue rubber gloves. “I thought I heard you screaming into your pillow last night, but when I went in there, you were already asleep.”

“Yeah, I slept well,” Percy grumbles, the skin under his eyes sunken and bulky. He chooses to not tell her that he was, in fact, screaming into his pillow. He also chooses not to tell her he had a vision of his dad last night, too, unsure of how she’ll react. His hand mindlessly seizes a plate of browning fried eggs. “How was your night?”

“Oh, the kids were as wild and rowdy as ever,” she describes, grinning brightly. “There was one group that came in really late at night and practically bought the whole store! There were nine―maybe ten kids that were all fighting over the last few pieces of a family size pack of M&M’s. One of the girls didn’t have any money and tried to trade her Star for a piece of candy. Poor thing.”

“Sounds crazier than when I brought my friends over there,” Percy notes, surveying the crystalline frost encrusting the window sill.

“Oh, trust me, you and your friends were worse,” she teases, scrubbing the dirty dishes. “Oh, that reminds me! Someone came to see you earlier. She said she was a friend of yours. Such a pretty girl. Sweet and charming, too―”

Percy blinks. “A friend?”

“Yeah,” says a voice at the doorway.

When Percy turns, he internally, exasperatedly groans. Annabeth is idly sweeping her gaze over the Jacksons’ polished kitchen, the artificial diamonds of her earrings glistening in the light, hair tied in a hastily-made ponytail. Her puffy winter jacket has been discarded. She’s wearing a thick cable knit cardigan over an ivory sweater, and his Star is nowhere in sight. Her face is impassive, like steel, nothing like the breathless girl that had approached him last night.

Annabeth gives him a hidden, almost microscopic smile. “How about a little adventure, Perseus?”

# 

* * *

“Y’know, you can just call me _Percy,”_ he whispers to her when they’re crammed in an abandoned corner of the library, books towered around them like a thoroughly guarded fortress. Annabeth had decorated the spires with miniature white and black chess pieces, their only source of light a glowing lantern she hauled with her. “Perseus makes me sound like an old professor in his fifties.”

“Old professor in his―oh, fifty isn’t _that_ old,” Annabeth contemptuously scoffs, scanning him, then his open books. She cursorily taps one of the pages. “Did you read that passage yet?”

Percy unenthusiastically scoots his chair so his eyes hover above the text. “What am I―what am I even trying to find? All I know is that you drop by at my apartment out of _nowhere,_ tell me my wish will somehow _destroy the world,_ and you won’t even give my Star to me.”

“We’re trying to find out _why_ your Star is glowing, obviously,” she clarifies, overturning the crisp page of her book again. From what he can see, it’s a blueprint of an motorcycle helmet.

“Already tried looking it up last night. I found nothing.”

“The internet’s not the only source where information can be found, dumbass.”

Percy inclines his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “Why do you care about my Star, anyway, _smartass?”_

“Does this diagram mean anything to you?” Annabeth promptly demands rather than answering, shoving a picture of a Star in his face.

Percy assimilates the technical drawing, the layout of the labels and brackets, the words decrypting the parts of a Star until it overwhelms his brain, and swats it away. “No, no―wait. You’re not―we’re not thinking about this correctly.” He snatches the book and expeditiously shuts it. “Facts aren’t going to help us. All we need is right _here.”_ Percy slowly extends a finger to his heart.

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “The person whose wish ends the world?”

“How do you know my wish will end the world?” he refutes, resting his elbows on his knees.. “Maybe I’ll wish for a hurricane or an earthquake. Three more wishes. World peace. A dog named _O’ Leary.”_

“Would you wish for those things?”

“Those were _examples.”_ Percy wiggles a book _―Volume IV of Muncy’s Star Discoveries―_ from the book fortress despite Annabeth’s protests, and flips a few pages back. “Here. This is what I mean. _‘A Star’s glow is triggered by its wisher’s emotions, feelings, or beliefs.’_ Maybe my vision meant I really, _really_ miss the beach.”

She ponders this, reading up a few more lines. “So I just―ask you a bunch of questions?”

“Uh, I mean, if you want to think of it like that.”

“Fine. Why is your name Perseus?”

He scrunches his nose. “That doesn’t trigger a Star.”

She rolls her eyes. “What did you have a vision of and is any of it important?”

“Nothing important, just the beach.”

“Then what are you feeling right now?”

“Bad.”

“I need _emotions.”_

“Annoyed.”

“What do you believe in?”

“Reality.”

“Anything... _specific?”_

“That you’re one step away from facing my wrath,” he announces as unsympathetic as he possibly can.

Annabeth quizzically eyeballs him, making an effort to fathom exactly what plane of existence his thoughts are in right now. Like they’re fucking dancing there. The corners of her lips almost unnoticeably twitch upwards. “So you’re―well, you’re saying unhelpful answers on purpose, aren’t you?”

Percy shrugs. “Maybe.”

“And you’re saying them because you want me to leave, don’t you?”

“Is it working?”

She releases an entertained, sweet-sounding laugh, so soothing it catches Percy by surprise. Her palm rises to conceal her broadening smile. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, it’s definitely not.”

# 

* * *

The next few days continue to be a pain in his ass.

Every single morning at the break of dawn, the same insufferable blonde-haired girl will arrive at his door, sit patiently in the living room, and pick him up to travel to the library. To hit the books. To face plant into another inevitable dead end.

She asks him numerous questions about his vision that night. _What kind of beach did you see? Was anyone else there? Was anything out of the ordinary?_

 _It was just a beach,_ he answers.

 _No, nobody else was there,_ he lies.

 _Yes, I saw a flying sea turtle,_ he mocks.

And so she drags and drags and drags him over to the library to find―something. He doesn't know what she wants yet.

But still, Percy voluntarily follows, even if he expects it’ll be another wasted morning. Not like he has anything better to do. Grover’s visiting his family down south, the Stolls are still upset that Percy unintentionally smashed into their roof (long story; it’s only a matter of time before they exact their revenge), and he would do almost anything to elude the looming pressure of writing his school paper. And he―well.

Maybe he just...needs a friend.

# 

* * *

“Your essay is on Stars?” Annabeth asks as she peers over his shoulder, scrutinizing the half-finished assignment.

“Yeah,” Percy responds shortly, occupied by the incoherent sentence he’s writing; where was he going with this again? He’s lying stomach-down on the ground, open books and dictionaries and thesauruses surrounding him, scratching letters onto notebook paper.

He’s not even trying to seem like he knows what he’s doing. All he knows is that he has a random girl marching into his life, a Star, and a strange vision of his dad with an equally strange message.

_Whatever is lost will always be found._

What did that mean? Percy lost many things in his life, whether it be a shoelace, a pen, his homework―anything. What has he lost? Will he wish for it to be found? Why did he even envision his dad? Percy needs assistance, a solution, a way out, an expert―

_Wait._

Wait a second.

An _expert._

Ideas formulate in his mind as he reluctantly returns his gaze to Annabeth. “Tell me about your dad’s theories.”

Her eyes ascend up her forehead in surprise. “I’ll bore you.”

Percy shrugs, writing again. “Tell me anyway.”

Annabeth’s eyes fixate on him, mildly stunned and silent. Carefully, gradually, she explains. “He had―well, I’m not sure how many. A lot. Star formulation and Star behavior being a few. But his most famous was the one he won the Most Innovative Theory award for. _Chase’s Theory._ The theory that Stars all had a purpose in our world. That they were trying to accomplish a mission.” Her fingers drum against her leg. “We just don’t know what it is.”

“I remember.” Percy glances up at her. “People said he was a lunatic.”

“They did, didn’t they?” she agrees faintly.

“Do you believe in it?”

“Well, that’s _complicated,_ really, it would mean that they have minds which is―which is― _actually,”_ she presses, changing her mind. “Of course not. Everyone knows Stars aren’t alive,” Annabeth debunks, too brusque for him to believe her. “My dad―he believes in it, though. Too much. His other theories _completely_ flopped, which is why he’s getting more into aircrafts and studying malfunctioning Stars and―hey, are you writing this down?”

Percy doesn’t respond to her question as he, indeed, writes every word she utters down. “You talk a lot.”

She blinks―slowly. Deliberately. Revered. “Not usually,” she says, giving him a curious, intrigued stare. “Not _usually.”_

# 

* * *

Annabeth whisks him off to Beareguard’s Bakery.

It’s a narrow, picturesque building wedged in between a jewelry store and a barber shop, so inconspicuous that Percy hardly even noticed it until Annabeth swung the front door open.

The inside is strikingly washed and polished and elegant with its glittering diamond-like chandeliers and silver-painted walls. Freshly baked croissants and loaves of bread are displayed on tiered stands. A variation of lemon and strawberry and chocolate desserts have been delicately positioned in woven baskets, the rims lined with fake, prickly holly plants. In the background, he listens to the bakers humming to the tune of _Deck the Halls._

“I’ve never seen this place before,” Percy says incredulity, stuffing a chocolate bonbon in his mouth. They’re sitting at the lone table, eating the sweets they purchased. “And I’ve lived here my _whole life.”_

“Oh, you know, it just―just opened a few months ago.” She glimpses at the kitchen door, where a girl a few years older than them strolls pass, clutching a metal cake pan. The girl spots Annabeth and waves an oven mitt at her before leaving.

He frowns when Annabeth waves back. “Who was that?”

“Silena. She works here―part-time, of course, since she has her own job at some hair salon.” Annabeth briskly changes the subject. “Have you learned anything new, by the way?”

Percy groans, slumping deeper in his chair. “We can’t have one relaxing afternoon?”

“I have to tell your mom fake stories about us _on the spot._ Ever since I met you, my hopes for _any_ relaxing afternoons are long gone.”

“But we can stop now, right?” He numbers the facts on his hand. “We’ve been looking at books for―how many again? The past _three days_ and all we know so far is we have some _crazy intuition_ with our Stars, wishes _don’t_ have any scientific explanation, and, apparently, Stars have a _structure_ even though they’re just shaped like a _tennis ball.”_

Annabeth studies his face. “So you _have_ been learning.”

“I want to know as much as you do,” Percy insists. “I just don’t understand why we need to research so much about them.”

She shrugs. “Research can take you a long way.”

“Yeah, I mean, look at your dad,” Percy says sarcastically. “Research is a _guarantee_ down the path of stealing Stars from newborn babies.”

He assumes she’ll roll her eyes and tell him to shut up. Instead, Annabeth laughs a little, then coughs to hide it. “Shouldn’t have laughed at that. He’s just―you know, my dad.” She stares out the window. “It feels weird talking about him like this.”

It’s Percy’s turn to study her now. She looks miserably out the window, her arms crossed, blue-gray eyes gloomy, still dejectedly chewing her bonbon. He hasn’t seen her like this before, which is jarring. They’re edging towards unexplored territory now, so before one of them says anything they’ll regret, he blurts out, “Wait, did you say you told my mom fake stories?”

Annabeth goes on an extensive, lengthy, inconsequential rant, informing him how his mom had questioned if she was Percy’s friend, how Annabeth had requested hot chocolate, how she kept requesting hot chocolate until she had no choice but to manifest a realistic first meeting story from thin air.

“Did you at least make up a good first meeting?” he asks her, filling a brown paper bag with chewy, rich chocolate chip cookies. “Like a book club or a football game?”

Annabeth hesitantly waves a macaron cookie in the air. “I told her you were a very nice guy.”

Percy raises an eyebrow. “And?”

She looks away. “And I may have told her we met when I offered to go to the nurse’s office with you after you tripped on a banana peel, fell into a trash can, and got a chipped tooth.”

He gawks at her, dumbfounded.

The rest of the afternoon goes just as well. At some point they introduce the discussion of candy (“Peppermint’s my favorite,” Percy tells her. “Spicy cold flavor, y’know?”), bicker over Christmas movies (“Home Alone was good,” Annabeth mentions, “but the Polar Express is superior.”), and played a game of _Curse or Wish?_ (“Why are you always asking me if I want to wish for _world domination?”_ he groans. “I just want to pass Physics!”).

Afterwards, when the sky becomes a shade darker and the bakers return home, Percy opens the door to exit, bells jingling above him. Annabeth stays with Silena, about to help clean the kitchen, but before she does, she turns to him and asks, “Hey, Percy?”

“Just―have a good night,” she mutters. “Uh, I’ll probably be late tomorrow. Silena and I are―are going to be pretty busy. You know. Cleaning up.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Percy grins. “Hey, just―don’t hurt yourself. I would hate to take you to the nurse’s office.”

 _“So_ funny,” Annabeth comments, rolling her eyes. And then―and then she smiles, grins, _beams,_ revealing pearly white teeth, one corner of her lips stretching wider than the other.

He stares at her a second too long.

And he’s still thinking about it when he bids Annabeth goodbye.

And he’s still thinking about it when he tells his brain to shut up.

And he’s still thinking about it when his boots skid against the frosted concrete, dazedly staring off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. jDjdJSFk i wrote them having a _conversation_ this is called _growth_ i am _growing as a writer_ i wrote _a conversati_
> 
> ii. honestly the next chapter is just percabeth and a few bits here and there about annabeth and her past. hope y'all stick around.

**Author's Note:**

> i. annabeth's so dramatic sometimes. anyway
> 
> ii. hope y'all stick around for the other chapters coming! there will be more percabeth in those chapters, so hang tight :) i'm planning to update once every one or two weeks, but we'll see what my writer's block thinks about that.
> 
> iii. title and chapter titles from i'm coming home pt. ii by skylar grey. (it's the way i never bother to make up my own titles jdlkfjsl)
> 
> [tumblr](https://lovely-verisimilitude.tumblr.com)


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